


First Flight of the Robin

by TwinTerrors



Series: Sometimes, You Just Need to Flip Things Around [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 15:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinTerrors/pseuds/TwinTerrors
Summary: When tragedy strikes Haly’s Circus, Damian al Ghul is not going to let his family’s murderer get away with it, even if the local urban legend, the Batman of Gotham, refuses to let him on the case.





	1. Prologue: Sisters' Son

“No, let me handle that, Damian.” Nyssa al Ghul carefully nudged her nephew aside as she picked up the trunk from the back of the trailer she shared with her sister, Talia, and Talia’s son, Damian. The eight year old had tried to lift the bulky box, which contained the carefully packed costumes and makeup they would wear for their performance that night, all by himself.

Damian took a moment to look her over, checking that she had a firm grip on the trunk, before nodding.

“Thank you, Aunt Nyssa,” he said, then turned and lead the way back outside.

Nyssa was glad that the boy wasn’t facing toward her as she followed him, carefully twisting herself to slide through the door with the trunk. With Damian so close in age to her own sons before they died, it was sometimes hard to remember that the boy in front of her was not her Eli, not her David, but her nephew.

Speaking of Talia, her sister had arrived while she was inside and, seeing Nyssa’s struggle to get the trunk through the doorway, reached over to grab on to the other end of it..

“Here, I’ll take this into the main tent and get it set up while you go do your check over of the rigging,” she said, gently tugging until Nyssa yielded the trunk.

Nyssa nodded, secretly grateful that her sister understood her need to be certain of the rigging. The number of times she checked the ropes before each performance might be called excessive by some, but she refused to lose what was left of her family, not to another preventable accident.

The three of them walked across the camp toward the big top, not in any particular hurry but also not keen to be out in the cold longer than was necessary. The weather may have been warming up down south, but here in Gotham it still felt like winter, despite it now being April.

However, they all found themselves slowing as they passed Haly’s office at the sound of loud voices within, arguing. Nyssa frowned and, after exchanging a meaningful glance with her sister, slipped a bit closer to the door of the trailer, which had been left ever so slightly ajar.

“This is outrageous!” shouted a voice from inside, which Nyssa easily recognized as the owner of the circus himself, Pop Haly. “You think you can just march in here and demand-”

“ _I think_ you are not in any position to disagree, Mr. Haly,” retorted a second, unfamiliar voice. “Why, without the protection I can offer you, you never know what might happen to a circus like this. Gotham is a very dangerous city, you know. All kinds of unfortunate things happen here. And of course, if you refuse, I can’t guarantee the safety of you or your operation.”

Suddenly, Nyssa felt her sister brush past her to shove open the door. It seemed Talia had heard enough. Frankly, Nyssa agreed, but she would have appreciated having any sort of plan, or even a moment to agree that both were ready. With a quick motion for Damian to stay out of this, she drew herself up to her full height and followed after her sister.

“Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” Talia questioned, crossing her arms and scowling at the owner of the unfamiliar voice, a man she had never seen before. Nyssa took up a similar position beside her sister. She tilted her head back confidently, well aware of the threatening sight the pair of them made: flying every day the way they do builds up a lot of muscle. Their stage name certainly didn’t come from their sunny dispositions, either. The two of them have been called upon several times to help chase off drunks causing problems after performances.

It therefore did not come as a surprise when the stranger visibly hesitated upon turning around from where he was leaning over Pop Haly’s desk and seeing them blocking the doorway. Pop Haly, however, was quick to seize this opportunity to get out of the confrontation.

“No trouble here. Mr. Zucco was just leaving,” Pop Haly stated firmly, and raised an eyebrow at the man.

Zucco pulled his gaze away from her and her sister to give a sharp look in Haly’s direction, then returned his attention to the pair still blocking the door.

“Of course,” he said, apparently realizing that whatever he wanted, he was not going to get it with the sisters present. “I think I have made your position in this matter clear enough.

“I look forward to your performance tonight,” he directed to the sisters. And with that, he cautiously walked out the door, wisely turning so as not to bump into either of their shoulders.

As Nyssa turned to keep him in her sights, she caught him pausing, before carefully stepping around Damian, who was scowling up at him with his arms crossed just outside the door. _That’s our boy_ , she thought, smirking to herself. She turned back to check on Pop Haley, who had an odd sort of expression on his face.

“Are you worried about him causing problems, Pop?” Nyssa asked, concerned.

“What? Oh, no, it’s fine,” Pop said, distractedly, then seemed to regain his focus enough to force a smile. “I’m sure you scared him off, but I’ll talk to the ticket takers, have them keep an eye out for him just in case.”

Nyssa nodded. His reaction still felt a little off, but his solution made sense regardless. She met Talia’s skeptical gaze for a moment, then they both mentally shrugged.

“That seems reasonable. But if he causes any more trouble, just let us know. We’ll take care of it,” her sister offered.

“Naturally,” Haly accepted, with a bit of a snort. His smile, though still a little strained, had become much more genuine as he settled back in to finish whatever paperwork he had been working on before the interruption. “Now go on, I’m sure you all have your own preparations to attend to.”

Talia picked up the trunk from where she had left it before rushing inside earlier, and led Damian toward the costuming area to get set up for that night. Nyssa, on the other hand, was going to assuage her anxiety by triply securing the rigging. Just in case.


	2. Last Flight of the Fearless al Ghul’s

Damian looked down at the squirming toddler in his arms. Why did his parents feel the need to shove their brat off onto him just to take a picture? Couldn’t they hold him themselves?

“Smile! Jason, look over at me!” The child’s mother ordered.

The child twisted to look at his mother, excitement and joy clear in his eyes. Damian was glad of the years of experience that allowed him to keep his smile firmly in place despite the bony elbow that was driven into his diaphragm by this maneuvering. The camera flashed. The toddler - Jason - looked up at him, and smiled hugely. Damian sighed internally, but kept the smile on his face.

“Are you looking forward to the show Jason?” He asked.

The small boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Uh huh!” Damian wondered if it was possible to nod so hard that your head fell off, because this child certainly seemed to be trying to test it. “Wanna see the quad’oople somersault!”

 _Interesting_. Damian raised his eyebrows at that. _Maybe this brat isn’t so bad after all._

“Well,” he said, looking the boy over as he reappraised his value as a human being, “that’s not technically part of my routine for tonight. But, since you expressed an interest in seeing it, I suppose-”

Jason interrupted him with a squeal, causing Damian to have to need to carefully control his wince, and somehow managed to twist in Damian’s arms and face his mother.

“Mom! Did you hear that? He said he was gonna do a quad’oople somersault!”

“Yes, dear, I heard,” the woman said, finally bending down to pick her son up again. “Now come along, we need to go sit down before the show starts.”

Damian let his face relax as soon as family was far enough away. They hadn’t even thanked him for the photo, but he honestly hadn’t expected them to. Luckily, a quick glance around told him that most of the other families seemed to have had the same thought as Jason’s mother and were heading into the big top to take their seats for the show (and get out of the wind, most likely).

“Are you ready to go find your aunt?” his mother asked from behind him. At his nod, the two slipped through the thinning crowd and into the staging area, where they quickly took off their coats and adjusted the costumes and makeup underneath.

After about a minute, they were joined by Aunt Nyssa, who had just finished her last minute check-over of their rigging. Ever since an improperly secured line three years ago cost her sons, his cousins Eli and David, their lives, she had examined the rigging to within an inch of its life before every practice or performance. But even for her, this level of vigilance was unusual. Damian guessed that the confrontation with the strange man, Zucco, earlier, especially his insinuations about the safety of the circus, must have rattled her nerves more than she wanted to admit.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he heard Pop Haly boom from out in the ring, “boys and girls, prepare yourselves for the show of your lives!”

The first act was the elephants, which he and his family typically helped out with behind the scenes. However, he felt himself falling a little behind when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

A man was sneaking out of the staging area.

Damian frowned. No one was supposed to be heading in that direction right now, not with the show just starting. He was about to dismiss it when he caught a glimpse of the man’s face: it was the man who had been arguing with Pop Haly earlier. Mr. Zucco.

Damian stiffened, but before he could do anything, he heard Haly give the cue to start sending out the performers. He hesitated, but turned to get to work. When he looked back over his shoulder one last time before he left, the man was gone.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you: the Fearless al Ghul’s!”

The audience roared beneath the three of them as the spotlight panned up to their position high in the air. Damian and his family smiled, this time a bit more sharply than he and his mother had during the pre-performance shows, each of them holding up an arm in acknowledgement of the audience.

“First, a performance from the youngest member of the family: Damian al Ghul!”

Then, without further fanfare, he leapt off the platform.

His dive immediately swooped into an arc as the trapeze caught his weight.

“Remember folks, these death-defying stunts are taking place forty feet up in the air, and the Fearless al Ghul’s are not using a safety net. A fall that far would kill them instantly!”

Damian took his cue to launch himself into his first flip, flying through the air for a few breathless seconds until he caught the next bar and swung into the next arc.

He continued with his routine, flipping back and forth between the different bars, making sure to add in all the flourishes his aunt had been trying to teach him this week.

Finally, it was time for him to finish the routine with a triple somersault, impressive among his age-group. However, he had other plans: al Ghul’s kept their promises, after all. And the little boy from earlier would be somewhere in the audience, even if Damian couldn’t pick out his small face among the many gazing up at him in awe.

As he let go of the bar, he heard Pop Haly’s voice over the loudspeakers, announcing his move. Damian smirked, knowing he was going to startle the old man.

He spun, twisting through one, two, three revolutions, and then… _There!_ he thought triumphantly after completing the fourth rotation, just in time to snatch the next trapeze, allowing his excess momentum to spin him once around the bar.

“Holy - ! Ladies and gentlemen, we have seen tonight the performance of the daring quadruple somersault, the signature move of the Flying al Ghul’s, a feat only a handful in the world are capable of pulling off! Without a net! This last minute substitution from the young Damian al Ghul completes his act for the night, on a truly astounding note!”

He finished his last pass before landing neatly on the platform, immediately turning to bow to the audience before raising one hand again in acknowledgement of the audience’s appreciation. This time, he did not have to force his proud smile; he knew he had done well, and as always, flying made his blood sing.

“And now, for the final act of the night, the moment you have been waiting for: the death-defying flight of the fearless sisters, Nyssa and Talia al Ghul!” Pop Haly’s voice rang out again within the tent.

Damian focused on climbing down from his perch as his mother and aunt began their own performance, each leaping out above the ring before catching the trapeze and swooping through the air. As he reached the ground he tilted his head back, smirk firmly in place as he watched his family work their magic on the crowd.

Suddenly, there was a loud snapping sound. Damian’s head whipped around at the noise, and he frowned at the poles and ropes holding the tent together. That wasn’t supposed to happen. His mind raced to try to figure out what could have caused the noise, but a sudden collective gasp from the audience drew his attention back to the show just in time to see his family collide with the ground.

For a moment, he stared, trying to process what his eyes were telling him. Then, he felt his legs start moving, stumbling in his haste to reach his mother and aunt in the center of the ring.

However, just as he reached them, he felt something pulling him back. He managed to escape and reached for his mother before he was grabbed him around the middle and yanked away. He heard whispering in his ear, but was too focused on his family- _no, their bodies_ -to process the words. He shook, giving up on escaping the hold, and screamed.

 

When Damian was next aware of his surroundings, he found himself seated in the stands, wrapped in a blanket. A large man wearing a crisp black coat was sitting close beside him, watching him with sad but sharp eyes.

The audience was all gone, replaced by a crowd of police officers. There were several with strange jackets and blue gloves taking pictures of the bodies on the ground, several wearing police uniforms standing at the entrances, and two men wearing suits and holding coffee.

“You back with me?” Damian glanced at the man next to him, who seemed to have noticed his increased awareness.

Damian nodded in response, but turned his gaze to focus on the bodies.

“I’m Bruce. What’s your name?”

“...Damian,” he mumbled.

“Are you Damian al Ghul?”

He jolted; apparently Bruce wasn’t the only one who had noticed him.

“Yes,” he muttered, looking at the man in the suit who was talking to him, then back to the bodies.

“We’re sorry about what happened to your mother and...your aunt, was she?” the other suited man asked.

Damian just nodded.

“A terrible accident,” the second man continued. “Must’ve been really horrible for you to see that.”

Damian didn’t respond to that, still staring at the bodies. Something was bothering him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it…

“It looks like one of the ropes was improperly secured,” the first man interjected. “As soon as the two of them put their full weight on the trapeze, gravity combined with their centrifugal force and it gave out.”

“Such a terrible accident,” the second man repeated, frowning and shaking his head.

Damian realized what it was.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he whispered, putting together everything he had witnessed earlier in the day.

“What was that?” Bruce asked.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Damian said, more firmly this time.

“I’m sorry, are you saying that someone sabotaged the trapeze?” the first man raised his eyebrow. “What makes you think that? And who would have wanted to do that?”

“Aunt Nyssa triple checks the ropes before every performance, I saw her doing it today. But there was a man, a man who wasn’t supposed to be there, after she finished-”

“Listen kid,” the second man interrupted. “You’re upset, this must have been really scary for you. Your family just died, and if the accident had occurred a couple of minutes earlier you would have died with them.”

Damian had not thought of that. Damian decided he did not want to think about that ever again, but had a feeling he might be forced to later when this all sunk in.

“We’ll make sure to look for this man you saw,” the first man continued, “but let’s not throw around accusations like that, huh? If there is any evidence that this was deliberate, we will do our best to find whoever is responsible.”

Damian looked at the men again, only now noticing their police badges..

“Now, kid, do you have any other family? Anyone we should contact?”

“No,” he answered, “Just my mother and Aunt Nyssa.”

“Okay. We’ve called CPS, they should be here soon to pick you up. They’ll find somewhere for you to stay. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Damian saw the detectives walk toward the people with the gloves and cameras, but kept his gaze on his family.

“Who was the man?”

Damian startled, and turned toward Bruce.

“What?”

“The man you saw. Do you know who it was?”

“...yeah. He was bothering Pop Haly earlier. Mother and Aunt Nyssa chased him off. His name was Zucco.”

“Zucco, huh.”

Damian nodded. Bruce was still staring at him with those steely eyes. They sat in silence for several more seconds.

“Damian,” Bruce began, “I was hoping, well. I wanted to. Um.”

Before he could finish whatever he was saying, they were approached by an older woman in a suit.

“Damian al Ghul, correct?” She asked, looking him over.

He nodded.

“I’m with CPS. Go gather your things while I talk to the detectives. We have a temporary foster home for you since it’s so late tonight, but we’ll sort out where to put you more permanently in the morning.”

Damian could only nod again, accepting the offered trash bag and moving toward his family’s trailer. He did not look back.


	3. Flight by Night

Damian lay still under the covers of his bed and pretended to fall asleep as the lights were turned out throughout the orphanage. He needed to wait for the adults to stop paying attention and ensure his new roommate wouldn’t notice anything.

After what felt like an hour, he silently slid himself out from under the blankets and stood up on his bed. He had managed to slip his jacket and shoes on under the covers painstakingly slowly over the past hour, hopefully slowly enough that his roommate hadn’t heard anything. With just a bit of a hop for the last inch, he just reached the bars on the bottom half of the window above his head and pulled himself up.

From this new position, he could easily reach the target he had noticed earlier in the day: the broken latch on the top half of the window. He suspected no one had bothered to repair it due to its placement;  _ surely no child would be able to reach it _ , he thought sarcastically, smirking. Slowly, he pushed the top part of the window open, relieved when it didn’t even squeak, and slipped through the narrow gap. Once he was hanging on the exterior of the building, it took him only a few moments to climb the remaining feet from the window sill up to the roof. 

He walked along the ledge at the top of the building, thinking over what he had learned since the day that his world was shattered. How the social worker had been unable to find a family able to take him in the next morning ( _ he heard the other kids at the temporary foster home whispering about him as he dressed and ate breakfast that morning, he couldn’t make out anything but the hiss of ‘terrorists’ _ ), so he was going to be placed in an orphanage.

As he had gotten out of the social worker’s car, he had seen that the orphanage was in what looked to be a very old church. A sign next to the door had read  _ St. Aden’s Catholic Church _ in faded white letters.

They had been greeted at the door by a nun, who had immediately shown Damian up to the attic room he would be sharing with a boy about his age with very red hair. The nun had introduced him to the other boy, but Damian was not paying attention. How could he, when only one thought was burning in his mind: the police had ruled his family’s murder an accident.

Every time he thought about it, Damian had to clench his jaw in order to not scream at their obvious incompetence. It had taken all of his self control not to launch himself at the social worker when she delivered the news while driving him to the orphanage. He wanted to shake them, but especially those idiotic detectives from last night, make them listen to him, somehow force them to understand how wrong and foolish and ridiculous they were being. But there was nothing he could do; he was stuck within the walls of the orphanage, not even permitted to use the phone or a computer.

Or so the nuns thought.  _ Shows what they know _ , he thought to himself with a snort from his position on the roof. However, despite his distraction throughout the day, he had heard something interesting, possibly even useful, from the other children in the orphanage: tales of a local legend known as the Batman.

“They say he’s a vampire,” one girl was making fangs with her fingers while curving her other arm in front of her body, miming a cape.

“I heard he’s part bat,” another boy waggled his hands on either side of his head, suggesting bat’s ears.

“Well, whatever he is,” the girl who had accidentally sparked this debate broke back in, gesturing at the newspaper she was reading, “the GCPD just started a task force to work on hunting him down.”

“So they finally admit he exists?” the first girl crowed.

“But why are they hunting him? Isn’t he helping the police?” the boy asked, confused.

“Apparently, beating up mobsters and criminals is against the law,” the girl jabbed her finger into the newspaper for emphasis.

“They’re just jealous he’s doing their job better than they can,” the boy muttered, scowling.

“Or they’re afraid he’ll figure out how deep in the mobs’ pockets they all are,” the girl snickered.

Damian had figured it out then, how he was going to get justice for his family: he was going to track down Zucco and bring him to the police, just like Batman did. He just needed proof that Zucco had tampered with the rigging.

“So. What’re we doin’?”

Damian yelped and nearly lost his footing on the icy ledge. As soon as he regained his balance he whipped his head around to see who had managed to sneak up behind him while he was lost in thought.

“Damian, right?” his roommate asked, staring at him and smirking in obvious satisfaction at his surprise. “You wouldn’t happen to have gotten ideas about playing Batman, now wouldja?”

“What’s it to you?” Damian asked suspiciously. If this boy thought he was going to stop him from tracking down Zucco, he had another thought coming.

The other boy’s smirk stretched into a smile. “Thought so. Want some help?”

His face must have expressed his feelings about that suggestion, because the boy immediately continued. “I have some experience with this, yah know. My folks were killed in a fire when I was little. They never did figure out what started it.”

“...okay then,” Damian nodded to himself. Then, he paused and asked, “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“I’m Colin. And yeah, I kinda noticed you weren’t paying any attention.”

 

Colin’s assistance turned out to be invaluable. He showed Damian how to leap between fire escapes and travel across the rooftops, and once Damian explained the situation even had a few ideas of locations to start hunting for Zucco. Which left Damian wondering.

“Why do you know this?”

“Hm?” Colin smirked at him. “Know what?”

“What I was planning. How to get around the city like this. Especially where to start looking for Zucco.”

“Oh, I hear things around.” 

Damian growled, really wanting to wipe that smirk off his face. Instead, he vented his frustration into his motion, adding height to his next leap, enough to allow him to flip before landing on the next roof.

“Wow, okay,” Colin said, eyes wide. “Here’s a deal, you teach me how t’ do that, and I’ll answer some of your questions.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s fair,” Damian allowed, relishing his turn to smirk at the other boy.

He then repeated the maneuver as they leapt onto the adjacent roof, where they stopped. Damian explained the need for enough height and speed on the jump to allow the full rotation before touching down, and the necessary push and twist to build the rotation, and the way to tuck your body in during the flip and how to straighten out at just the right moment to land on your feet.

“Huh,” Colin hummed once Damian had finished explaining, eyeing the next gap. Then, without waiting another moment, ran toward the edge and launched himself into the air, but under-rotated his flip and landed on his back on the gravel and ice of the next roof, skidding several feet.

Damian rushed to follow, landing a few feet away from the still form of Colin. Before he had time to do more than close that distance, Colin groaned and rolled over onto his side.

“Ouch,” he moaned, rubbing his shoulder. “Maybe I’ll leave the flippy shit to you, then. By the way, where’d you learn to do that?”

“The circus, obviously,” Damian sniffed. “And I have held up my end of our bargain. Now, tell me how you knew that I was planning to sneak out.”

“Oh, that one was easy,” Colin responded from his position laid out in the dirty snow. “You weren’t paying any attention to anything all day until Steph, Duke, and Harper started talking about Batman; you got all hyper-focused, but like you were trying to pretend like you weren’t interested. Then, when we were getting ready for bed, you were seriously eyeing the window. Also, getting dressed under your covers isn’t as sneaky as you think.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at Colin as he sat up. “Was I that obvious?”

“To anyone else? Probably not,” Colin shrugged. “I might have been projecting a bit, but hey, I was right. I’m pretty sure that none of the others noticed, at least.”

Damian sighed, but accepted that. “Okay then, how about where you learned to travel like this? And you know where to start asking around about Zucco?”

“Well,” Colin sighed, starting to push himself to his feet, “that’s a bit more difficult.” Once he was upright, he took a minute to try to brush off his clothes and skin before continuing to speak. “It’s a bit of a long story. See, I haven’t actually been living at St. Aden’s all this time. I was in a foster home for a while, but I ran away. I learned to get around from some of the other kids, we’d trade information.”

“So is that how you know where to look for information?”

“Sort of, but I was gettin’ to that,” Colin was shifting around uncomfortably now. “One night, a couple months ago, I was sleeping with some of the other kids in an empty building. It gets cold at night. Suddenly, all these big guys’re there, they dragged us out, all quiet. You know the stories, about getting snatched like that.”

Damian did not, in fact, know the stories, but frowned seriously and tried to look as though he understood.

“Anyway, they dragged us into the back of a van, took us to this big warehouse place, you know the type.”

This time Damian actually did know, but did not interrupt to assert it.

“There was this really big guy wearing a strange mask over his head. Apparently, he needed test subjects for some new drug he had, figured couple of squatting kids’d do,” he snorted. “So, he went down a line, stuck each of us with a needle. It sucked. Felt like my insides were burning. 

“But then I realized that I had started to get bigger, like bigger than the goons big. And, like, super muscle-y. Like, strong enough to try and bust outta there soon as I could feel my face. And, yah know, think of doing anything but screaming. 

“Course, didn’t do much before Batman showed up, chased off the guy in the mask and the goons, started making sure the other kids’re okay before disappearing just as the cops showed up. The medics did something to help flush the drugs outta our systems, and I shrunk back down to normal size again. Then, they realized I didn’t have a home, and sent me to St. Aden’s insteada trying to find a new foster home.”

Damian was not sure that he believed this. It had started mildly far-fetched, but gotten progressively harder to swallow. He knew that Gotham was a strange place, but masked men stealing kids to test their magic-growth drugs was probably a bit too strange even for Gotham.

“That’s when I decided,” Colin continued, apparently not noticing his skepticism. “I was gonna be like that. I wanted to help kids, help keep them safe, but also get a chance to stop the guys doing the hurting, yah know?”

Yes, Damian knew.

“So I worked the window open, snuck out after lights out, but then I realized: I had no idea what I was doing. So I started asking around, listening, learning. I’m still building up my knowledge, but I’ve been making a lotta progress, enough to have some ideas about where the different borders are, who the bosses are, and where some of the lower level guys like hanging out when they’re off work. I‘ve heard of Zucco, even, but not for anything like this. ‘Course, that‘s probably just cuz I haven’t heard much about him at all, ‘cept that he’s got a group over down by-EEK!”

A large black shadow had landed silently next to the pair on the roof, causing both boys to jolt backward, Colin nearly falling into the gravel again.

“Colin Wilkes. Damian al Ghul. Go back. You shouldn’t be out here.”

Damian felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and suppressed a shiver at the sound of the deep, rough voice. He had never heard a voice like that, neither among the other performers at the circus nor in the crowds, and something about it deeply unsettled him. Made him want to run, get away, hide, but he stood firm and turned his eyes upward to the strange pointy ears on the shadow’s head. 

_ So this must be the Batman.  _ Damian had somehow expected him to be taller, even though he was probably still larger than most grown men. Overall, though, he had to admit, he was impressed.

Colin must not have gotten as good a look at the shadow, or his story about having been saved by Batman was completely made up, as the second he recovered his balance he launched himself at the figure with a roar of anger. As Damian looked on, the shape of his new ally rapidly grew and distorted until he was around the same size as the Batman. 

_ Okay, maybe he wasn’t making it all up after up, _ Damian thought, as Colin punched the Batman in the face. Or, he should say, punched the air where the Batman’s face had been. Because suddenly, the Batman was behind Colin, who was now both truly massive and massively confused and off balance. 

The Batman then struck with his hand at around Colin’s neck or shoulder, Damian couldn’t tell in the dark and with how fast the Batman was moving, causing Colin to slump over. After a second, the boy started shrinking back down again, the transformation proceeding much more slowly this way than the sudden growth spurt seconds earlier.

“Damian. You need to return to the orphanage,” the growl nearly made him jump again, as he realized that he had been lost track of time staring at Colin. The Batman had moved, and was now standing almost directly in front of him.

“No,” Damian shook his head. “Not yet. I have to find Zucco.”

“You are looking for the man who you think killed your family,” the Batman spoke again as Damian moved forward to check on Colin. He thought he’d be okay, he was already starting to stir when Damian turned him over onto his back.

“Of course I am,” he muttered, when it became clear that the Batman was waiting for a response. “He’s going to get away with it, probably even try it again, if I don’t find a way to prove that he did it and stop him.” He looked at Colin, then said, “I want to make sure he pays for what he did.”

“What if I can promise you that he will face justice for his actions?” 

Damian squinted up at the shadow, trying to see if there even was a face in there. When he could see nothing past the hint of empty white eyes, the tip of a nose, and what might have been an outline of lips, he gave up and asked instead, “How am I supposed to trust you?”

“So you would agree to go back and not sneak out again if I could guarantee that he would face justice.”

“I fail to see how you can guarantee anything,” Damian growled right back at him. “The police already ruled my family’s deaths an accident.”

“He will face justice.” 

Somehow, Damian believed him. He definitely didn’t trust the police after what they had done, but the Batman seemed different. And the way he said it...Damian had no doubt that the Batman would do everything in his power to ensure that the man responsible for his family’s murder wouldn’t get away with it.

However, he still wasn’t quite satisfied.

“I want to help.”

“No. I work alone.”

“Urrrrgh,” Colin groaned, rubbing his hands and sitting up. “Geez, that was dumb. Please tell me you fought him off, heroically avenging my demise?”

“What are you talking about?” Damian looked back to where the Batman had been standing, but there was nothing there anymore. “Oh, no, he must have left. He told us to go home, and promised that he was going to take care of Zucco.”

“Ugh. What a hypocrite.”

“I suppose,” Damian muttered, searching for any sign of the shadow from earlier, even on neighboring roofs. Somehow he wasn’t surprised when he found nothing.

“We should probably head back for tonight. anyway. I mean, I’m pretty wiped. Ended up face down on a roof twice already, probably not a good sign. And anyway, at least now we know that the Batman’s on the case.”

“I guess so,” was all Damian could think to say to that. He was hardly satisfied, but there didn’t seem to be much left to do for the night.

 

When he woke the next morning to the nuns knocking on their door, Damian could only be glad that they had gone home when they did. If this was how tired he was after only jumping around buildings for two hours, he was afraid of what it would have been like had they actually made it all the way to their destination.

“Damian?” the nun called out. “Can you come downstairs to the front office as soon as you’re dressed? There are a some things we need to talk to you about.”

“Understood,” Damian called back, sitting up groggily. He shot a confused look at Colin, but his roommate just shrugged unhelpfully.

He quickly pulled on his clothes, and in a flash of insight quickly brushed some of the tangles from his hair and washed the smudges off his face and arms, frantically attempting to eliminate all evidence of his late night adventure. Then, he cautiously descended the stairs to the front office on the first floor. He knocked firmly on the door, then opened it at the immediate response of “come in.”

“Ah, Damian,” a nun said, presumably the one in charge considering her position behind the big wooden desk, as she looked at him over the shoulder of the large man sitting across from her. “I was just going over your case with Mr. Wayne here. He has offered to help with your family’s funeral arrangements.”

“Who?” Damian asked, scrunching his face up at the man’s back.

“Hello chum,” the man turned around and gave him a small smile. Damian recognized him immediately; it was the man, Bruce, who had sat with him that night, after his mother and aunt had fallen.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You.” It was all he could think of to say.

He sat down in the chair next to Bruce, still staring up at him. The rest of the meeting was a daze. The only thing he remembered about it afterward was the gentle look on Bruce’s face as he stared right back at him.


	4. The Funeral

It was fortunate, it turned out, that Bruce had volunteered to arrange for the funeral. As circus performers, his family hadn’t belonged to any single synagogue, and had had no connections to this city. It might have taken days for them to find a rabbi and a plot, at the pace the government seemed to work around here. Not to mention that Damian had no money to pay for any of it.

That didn’t make it any less difficult to bury his mother and aunt.

He fingered the pin holding the torn ribbon to his best clothes. He was glad that the Kanes were members of a Reform congregation, he didn’t have much in the way of spare clothes to be able to tear.

The funeral had been simple; the burial short. After all, Damian was the only member of his family left to mourn, and the circus had already had to leave the day after the disastrous show, unable to sell tickets and struggling to manage the refunds from the pre-sales.

Now, it was over. His last remaining family were in the ground. He had dropped his handful of dirt onto the grave. And now, he was sitting shiva at the Kane’s with Bruce and his various cousins.

He took another sip of cocoa. He couldn’t help but think how extremely tasty it was, even with the way most other food still didn’t taste quite right.

“You like it?” Bruce asked. “Alfred made it, I’ll have to ask him to get you some more.”

“No thank you,” Damian said.

“How about some more soup then?” The blonde girl who had been sitting next to Bruce for the last hour or so broke in. She seemed incapable of shutting up. “I made a literal ton earlier, Dad thought I was being ridiculous but I told him that with everyone over here, there’d be just enough. But I think I might have overestimated how much my recipe made, because there’s still, like, several more bowls worth left in the pot in the kitchen.”

“No thank you,” Damian repeated. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” she continued, undeterred. “How about some water? Maybe a blanket? I just finished making one last week, you can have it! Mom promised to teach me how to crochet, but I’m still learning that one, it came out kinda lopsided, but it’ll still keep you warm!”

“No. Thank you,” Damian growled.

“Oh, okay then, you just want to be left alone,” the girl-- _ what was her name? _ Damian thought it was something like Betty, but more ridiculous and pretentious-- continued to ramble. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I get it, totally. Makes sense, should have known. I was doing some research on psychology last year, and read a book about how people grieve, it said that even though we usually think of trying to keep busy and not leave mourners alone, how sometimes they just need to be left alone to process things for themselves for a while every now and then. Totally cool.”

Bruce coughed pointedly.

“Right, got the message, don’t need to tell me twice,” she said, getting up and heading toward the door. “ I’m just gonna leave now, shutting up. Leaving you two by yourselves. Got it.”

As the sound of her prattling faded into the kitchen, silence finally fell once more.

Damian was finally calm enough to think about them.

His aunt Nyssa. How she would always check over the ropes to ensure her remaining family’s safety. How she would hand-sew new sequins onto their costumes each summer. Her famous baklava, which she would only make on their birthdays.

His mother. How she would sometimes perform with the swordsman and knife thrower for shows when they didn’t have enough space to set up their trapeze rigging. How she would sit and read to him when he got sick. How she taught him to braid her and her sister’s hair and do his own makeup.

Their bodies, their blood mingling with the sawdust on the ground.

How there had been nobody to sit with them overnight, how even with Bruce’s help, he hadn’t managed to get them buried the next day.

His fingers traced the ribbon again.

The Batman had promised him that he would ensure Zucco would face justice for killing his family. And something told him that he could trust that promise. 

But what if he failed? What if he had lied after all? How could Damian know for sure? After all, it’s not like he could really hold an urban legend accountable for a promise he made to an eight year old orphan who had snuck out onto the rooftops in the middle of the night with no witnesses.

He would need to find a way to ensure that Zucco faced justice himself. He couldn’t rely on an urban legend to do it for him. That wouldn’t be proper vengeance for his family, after all.

But before he could plan anything further, his thoughts were interrupted by another cough. Bruce was looking at him, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

That didn’t bode well.

“Damian, I don’t want to interrupt your thoughts,” he said apologetically.  _ Too late _ , Damian thought. “But I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Before Damian could really worry about what that might be, Bruce continued.

“I remember that you didn’t have any other family you could live with, and I know that you have been staying at St. Aden’s. They haven’t been able to find you a foster home, and they don’t have much hope for that at this point, considering how overfull they already are. So, I wanted to make you an offer.

“Would you like to come live with me?”

Damian blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I wanted to know if you would want to live with me,” Bruce repeated, seeming slightly confused by Damian’s reaction.

“Yes, I understood that, but why would you offer?”

“Oh,” Bruce said, looking relieved “You need a place to stay, and I can provide it. I was there that night, and I...I want to help you, Damian. And this seems to be the best way to do that.”

“You already have helped me though,” Damian said. “You called your rabbi and helped set up the funeral, even paid for everything.”

“Technically, he’s my uncle’s rabbi,” Bruce responded. “But that was nothing, anybody would do that.”

“But it was you,” Damian whispered. “Not anybody.”

Bruce paused.

“Yes. Yes it was.”

Silence.

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes. I would like to live with you.”

“Oh. Oh, good then. I will work on that, then.”

“Now?”

“No, not yet,” Bruce shook his head. “We’re not done here yet.”

“Oh.” It was Damian’s turn to be surprised. “You’re going to stay?”

“As long as you want me here.”

“...Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

And they lapsed into silence again.

(At least until Bette returned with soup.)


	5. Interlude: The Butler

Alfred really did not understand what Master Bruce was thinking, taking in a child.

He had thought pressuring him into taking a night off was the right path, a way to keep him from burning himself out too soon. But it had only caused him to step up his efforts to kill himself before he hit 25 all the more in the aftermath of the incident at the circus.

But, seeing the pictures in the paper the next morning, he could almost understand. The poor boy, forced to watch his family’s deaths, left alone in the world.

Master Bruce had immediately focused on catching the killer, trying to give the boy closure. But that next night, something had changed. It was almost as though he realized that there was something more the boy needed.

A child, needing more than justice for his family’s murders? Perish the thought.

Regardless, Master Bruce set about arranging a proper funeral for the al Ghul sisters, calling his uncle to find a rabbi and cemetery for them. Alfred approved.

Then Master Bruce started talking about bringing Damian home to live with him.

Just until they find his family’s killer, Bruce said. Just until CPS can find him a permanent home.

Alfred saw right through those excuses, even if Master Bruce himself believed them.

And how, he had asked, are we going to care for him? I cannot look after him and attend to all my other duties. Are you planning to give up your crusade, or are you going to disappear at odd hours for days on end? Are you planning to lie to him? And if you hire a nanny, how are you going to keep your activities secret from the both of them?

Of course, Master Bruce took no heed of his warnings, as is his custom.

Alfred couldn’t help worrying.

But then he saw them together after the funeral.

And he knew.

So he got to work setting up a bedroom upstairs, estimating the boy’s size and buying his clothes, planning meals for three instead of just two.

There was much to be done before Master Bruce’s new responsibility arrived.


	6. The Roost

“Take a look, chum,” Bruce said, gesturing out the window. “We’re almost home.”

Damian turned and followed the line of his motion. His eyes popped open so wide he suddenly felt he understood the expression about them jumping out of his head.

“You live  _ there _ ?” he asked, turning to Bruce. It occurred to him that he probably should have questioned what the man did for a living before agreeing to move in with him, but it was too late now.

“Yup,” Bruce smiled  “This is Wayne Manor, it’s where my family has lived for generations.”

_ Woah _ , Damian thought,  _ definitely should have asked about his job _ .

“It will just be you, me, and Alfred living here,” Bruce continued, looking at his house- _ manor _ , Damian corrected himself. “I’ll introduce you to Alfred; he’s the butler, he basically raised me after my parents died.”

“Okay,” Damian nodded, now wondering what happened to Bruce’s parents. He continued looking out the window at the fancy, massive structure he would be living in. With the remains of the last snow still on the edges of the roof, it looked more like a postcard than somewhere real people lived. He wondered how many times over his family’s trailer would fit inside the manor. Then, in a burst of inspiration, he wondered if the big top would fit inside.

As he tried to guess the relative dimensions of the house compared to the tent, the car finished pulling up the gravel drive.

“Alright,” the social worker said as she opened her door and got out from behind the wheel of her car. “Why don’t we go inside and see where you’ll be staying, Damian?”

“Sure,” Damian replied, frowning as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

The social worker popped the trunk so Bruce could pull out Damian’s trash bag, still full of all the possessions he had gathered from his family’s trailer that night. Then the three of them made their way up the steps to the front door of the manor, where they were greeted by an older man wearing an unusual suit and a mustache.

“Welcome home, Master Bruce. And who might these be?” the man said, turning from Bruce to the other two arrivals with a raised eyebrow.

“Damian, this is Alfred, my butler,” Bruce introduced, gesturing at the man. “He will be helping me take care of you.”

“Good to meet you, Master Damian,” Alfred nodded to him. Damian noticed that he had an accent, but was not confident in his ability to identify it. Alfred stepped to the side, pulling the door the rest of the way open and gesturing for them to enter. “May I take your coats?”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce replied, with Damian and the social worker also chiming in their thanks as they each handed their coats to the butler. 

“Why don’t we help Damian get settled into his room, Alfred?” Bruce said, gesturing to the bag still in his hands. 

“Certainly Master Bruce,” the butler said. He then led the way up the huge staircase in the foyer (Damian couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to get on to the chandelier above it, it looked like a good platform to jump from) and down a hall, where he stopped in front of a door.

“Here we are, Master Damian,” Alfred said, opening the door and stepping back.

Damian examined the room. There was a big bed with dark green sheets and several pillows, a bedside table with a lamp and an alarm clock, a desk with a chair, and two other doors and a window. The bedroom had about as much space as the entire trailer he had lived in with his mother and aunt back at the circus. It was...a lot.

“Through that door,” said Alfred, gesturing to the left of the two doors within the bedroom, “is the bathroom, and through the other door,” he gestured to the one on the right, “is the closet. I have endeavored to fill the closet with articles of clothing in the size indicated to me by Master Bruce. I hope you find them to your taste, Master Damian.”

“Oh, this is lovely,” the social worker exclaimed, looking over the bed and out the window before checking the closet, revealing the promised clothes, and the bathroom, which Damian only caught one shiny glimpse of. “All right. Damian, why don’t you stay here and start putting away your things while we check over the kitchen and I help them with some of the paperwork they need to finish?”

“That is acceptable,” Damian nodded, taking the bag from Bruce and setting it down on the bed.

Instead of getting started immediately, he waited until he heard the adults walking down the hall before he opened the bag. He had been very careful while staying at the foster home and then at the orphanage not to let anyone see what he had brought with him. Somehow, it felt intensely personal, not something to be shared with strangers.

First, he carefully pulled out his family’s spare costumes. They were made to be durable, but without his aunt’s sewing ability he had no way to repair them if anything did happen, and then they would be ruined forever. He carefully hung them up in the back of the closet, hiding them behind coats and pants.

Next, he quickly put away the clothing he had brought, sorting them to fill the different spaces in the closet. His school books were placed on the dresser.

Finally, he pulled out his two most prized possessions: his stuffed tiger, which went on the bed, and the only photo he had of his entire family, before the accident.  _ And now the murder _ , he thought darkly to himself.

In the picture, his four-year-old self was sitting in his mother’s lap, both of them smiling at the camera. Behind his mother stood Aunt Nyssa, and on either side stood his two cousins, David and Eli, who would have been around eight at the time, the same age he was now.

For what felt like a long time, he simply sat on the bed and gazed at the framed picture in his lap. Then, he deliberately placed it on his bedside table, next to the lamp.

He took another moment to look around his new room and try to absorb it all, then picked the now-empty trash bag up off the bed and headed back downstairs to see if he could find the adults.

After getting lost a few times among the hallways, he eventually stumbled upon the three adults sitting down at a table in a room next to the kitchen.

“You get unpacked, chum?” Bruce asked.

“Well, thank you for the coffee,” the social worker said before he could respond beyond half a nod, “ but I should be on my way now that Damian is settled in. Remember to return the rest of those forms before the end of the week, and I’ll call sometime next week to talk to Damian about his placement.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, collecting the mugs from the table. “Give me just a moment and I will show you out and help you with your coat.”

“Well, Damian, I’m glad to see you placed in a good home,” the social worker said while she was waiting for Alfred to return from the kitchen. She pulled a small card out of her pocket and offered it to Damian. “Call me if you have any trouble or if you need me for anything, alright sweetheart?”

“Certainly,” Damian said, taking the card from her. He was fairly certain he would not need to; he had a weird feeling in his gut about Bruce. Not bad-weird, but odd in that he had not expected to feel so comfortable around the man, or to instinctively trust him so much. Still, it couldn’t hurt to hold onto her card, just in case, so he pocketed it quickly.

As Alfred led her out, she waved back over her shoulder at Damian, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Would you like me to show you around the rest of the house?” Bruce asked, standing up.

“Yes, that would be helpful,” Damian replied.

Bruce led him through a three rooms, all with different fancy names despite seemingly serving the same purpose, lined with judgmental-looking portraits of Wayne ancestors; an actual, enormous ballroom; the very clean kitchen (Damian was not sure what Alfred had done with the mugs, there had not been enough time for him to clean them up all the way but they weren’t in the sink);, an entertainment room with a massive television and a small collection of dvds, mostly old black-and-white films; and finally a large library.

There were more books than Damian thought anyone could ever read in their life, but maybe various ancestors had accumulated them over generations? Several comfortable-looking overstuffed armchairs, paired with lamps to make them good places to sit and read, were spread throughout the room. Any walls not covered with bookshelves were filled with more paintings, as well as a couple of old photographs. There was a large wooden table with a pair of matching wooden chairs covered in papers, and an old, fancy grandfather clock next to a large stone fireplace.

Bruce paused in front of the fireplace, looking up at the portrait above. This one featured a family: a couple with a boy, probably around six years old, who was presumably their son.

“You know, I was about as old as you when I lost my parents,” Bruce said quietly. Damian stared at him, then glanced back at the portrait when he realized that the little boy must have been Bruce. “My parents took me out to see a movie one night. You see, my father and I always enjoyed reading crime stories together, and there was this new adaptation of...anyway, we were walking back to the car. It was kinda dark, but we just needed to get to the other side of the theater so we took a shortcut down an alley instead of around the whole block. But...there was a man there, he had a gun. He pointed it at us, told us to give him our wallets and jewelry.

“My dad was a very large man, even bigger than me, and he...he decided to try to fight this guy. Maybe he thought the man was too scared or desperate to risk just cooperating with, I don’t know. Anyway, he tried to get the gun away from the man, but the man shot him, in the chest. He fell down right away. My mom, well, she kind of went berserk at that point, threw herself at the man, but he just shot her too.”

Bruce stopped speaking for a moment, still staring intently at the portrait. Then, he took a deep breath, and turned to look at Damian. His lips were twisted into what was meant to be a half-smile, but Damian saw the pain in his eyes.

“By the time anyone showed up, they were too late. The mugger was long gone at that point, he ran almost immediately after he fired those shots. I was left sitting between my parents bodies, in the pool of their blood.”

He glanced down at his hands for a moment before seeming to catch himself, forcing his gaze back to Damian’s face.

“After that, it was just me and Alfred, here at the manor,” he continued. “He did the best he could with me, but it was very lonely, just the two of us. I had trouble making friends you see. I’ve always been a bit strange, but after what happened, well, it got even harder to talk to other people, to connect.

“When I saw what happened that night, I knew that I didn’t want that to happen to you too, Damian. I wanted to help you, and because of what happened I believe I am in a better position to do so than most others. I wanted to make sure you knew you didn’t have to be alone.”

Damian stared at this man, feeling like he was only now truly seeing him for the first time, and could only nod. He felt tears stinging in his eyes, and the way his breathing was starting to speed up, and tried to get ahold of himself before he lost control completely. But then Bruce smiled at him, and Damian realized that he knew, he already knew what Damian was feeling, so he stopped bothering to try to hold it in. As began to cry, he felt Bruce’s large, warm arms wrap around him.


	7. Bird in the Night

Damian brushed his teeth in his new bathroom. He knew that being this far from the city would make it much harder to search for Zucco, but he was determined to try. Colin had told him the names of the places where he was planning to start gathering information, but without Colin there to help him navigate he would have no idea where those places were, muchless how to get there from the manor.

“What even  _ is _ a Bowery?” Damian grumbled to himself as he spat out his toothpaste.

It didn’t matter. He had sworn to ensure his family’s killer saw justice, and he had no way of ensuring that the Batman would keep his end of the bargain, so he had to find some way of returning to the city and keeping tabs on him.

When he exited his bathroom, he was only a little surprised to see Bruce standing at the door to his room.

“Turning in chum?” he asked, smiling softly.

Damian nodded. He was unsure where they stood with each other after his breakdown earlier, but Bruce had been nothing but gentle if a bit awkward as he finished showing him around the manor, and then at the dinner Alfred had served in the formal dining room.

“Okay,” Bruce replied. “It’s a bit early, but today’s been pretty draining, so you’re probably tired.”

Damian nodded again.

“All right then. I’m probably going to turn in too, after I finish up this last batch of paperwork,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward his office. “Would you like me to tuck you in or anything?”

Damian hesitated, remembering how his mother would always lay the blanket over him, ensure that he had his tiger, and kiss his forehead after she turned off the lights inside their trailer. How Aunt Nyssa would always sing quietly to herself as she braided her hair before bed. How, before his cousins had died, that song would have been a lullaby.

“No thanks,” Damian whispered, sliding under the covers of the too-big bed.

“Whatever you want, chum,” Bruce whispered back. He reached into the room to turn off the lights and left, gently closing the door behind him.

As Damian waited, he tried to get ahold of himself.  _ I am  _ not _ crying two times in one day _ , he told himself firmly.  _ Get yourself together, there’s work to do.  _ Under the covers, he carefully reached for the new clothes and boots he had stashed under his bed earlier in the day. These would be much more suited to his journey than anything he had previously owned. He quietly pulled each article of clothing on over his pajamas, layering to better protect himself against both the cold and any hard collisions with the rooftops as he traveled.

Finally, after an hour or so, he decided he had waited long enough for Bruce to be in bed and, hopefully, asleep. He slid out from under the blankets and made his way across the room to the door. Slowly, he cracked open the door to check the hallway outside. When all he saw was darkness in either direction, he breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door wide enough to fit through before closing it quietly behind him.

He knew his best bet was to just walk right out the front door, since he wasn’t sure what kind of security there would be on the windows or side doors, but based on what he had seen earlier in the day he thought he could figure out how to open the front door with no one the wiser.

As he was slipping down the hallway, though, he noticed something odd about the master bedroom.

Damian frowned as he turned to take a closer look.

The door was open. The room was dark. And there was no one in the bed.

His frown deepened. He briefly considered that maybe he had not waited long enough, that Bruce must still be working in his office, but then he remembered that he had already passed Bruce’s office on the way down the hall, and it had been dark and empty too.

_ So where is Bruce then? _ Damian wondered.

He decided to continue downstairs regardless. It would be best if he knew that Bruce was asleep and thus would not be trying to check up on him in the night, but he couldn’t afford to waste any more time if he wanted to actually make it into Gotham and get anything done tonight.

He began to descend the staircase in the entryway, but froze and darted back up into the hall as the lights turned on downstairs. After a couple of heart-stopping seconds, Alfred walked into view. The butler seemed to examine the coat closet next to the door briefly, then the front door, turning a set of locks and removing the key, before leaving Damian’s view again. After another couple of seconds, the lights flicked back off.

Damian sighed to himself in frustration. There went that potential exit. He considered returning to bed then and trying again the next night, but then he remembered the empty master bedroom. Maybe if he couldn’t sneak out and look for Zucco, he could at least figure out where Bruce was. That might give him an edge when he tried to sneak out in the future.

Decided, he started down the stairs again, this time making it to the bottom without incident. Guessing that maybe Bruce wanted a midnight snack before bed, Damian headed toward the kitchen, but had to stop and duck behind a table when Alfred suddenly appeared again.

The butler had not turned on the lights in the hall for some reason, but luckily Damian had heard the click of his shoes on the wooden floors early enough to be able to hide before he got too close. As Damian held his breath, he saw Alfred opened a door several meters past the small table he was hiding under. Based on Damian’s incomplete mental map of the manor, that would be...the library.

_ Maybe Bruce wanted to read before bed _ , Damian thought to himself, moving to follow the butler. But when he got closer, he could see that there were no lights on inside this room either.

There was no sign of Alfred inside the room, but he did see something else important as he stepped through the doorway: the clock was moving.

Damian froze.  _ That’s weird _ , he thought.  _ Clock  _ hands _ are supposed to move, but not the whole  _ case _. _ When a quick glance around the room confirmed that he was, in fact, alone, and the only light was still the faint moonlight coming through the windows, he decided to get a closer look at that clock.

His initial impression from earlier in the day seemed to hold: it was a particularly fancy grandfather clock, ornate carvings decorating the wood around the glass face and the ledge around its base. As he looked closer he realized that the clock was not even ticking: the brass pendulum hung stationary behind the glass, and the delicate second hand remained motionless on the face. Its age made him suspect that it was an antique, maybe some sort of heirloom; that would explain why it was kept even though it didn’t function.

However, he knew there must be more to this clock than met the eye; he had seen it moving, and knew that somehow it must hold the key to where Alfred (and possibly Bruce as well) had disappeared to. Hesitantly, he placed his hands on the front of the case and pushed. Luck was on his side, apparently, because the clock pushed back into the wall. Or, more accurately, back  _ through _ the wall.

_ A secret passage _ , Damian realized, looking into the black space revealed as the clock swung inwards.  _ I suppose it fits with the rest of this ridiculous manor. _

He set off down the revealed narrow passage, nearly jumping when the clock swung shut behind him, cutting off what little light had been coming in and leaving him entirely in the dark. After that he was forced to proceed very slowly, as he felt out each step before shifting his weight to avoid any surprises. This precaution proved invaluable when, only a couple of steps later, the passage turned into a spiral staircase, leading further down into the darkness.

The steps soon became visible as light leaked into the passage from ahead of him as he descended the stairs, allowing him to quicken his pace. When he finally reached the bottom, he found himself at an open doorway, with the light coming from somewhere outside.

He paused as he reached the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the light and taking stock of what he could tell. A quick glance around told him that the passageway was made of solid stone, and the shape and surface texture suggested that it was carved from natural rock rather than poured from concrete. He suspected that beyond the opening was a larger cave of some sort, and that presumably that was where Bruce and Alfred had gone.

_ Definitely should have asked what he did for a living _ , Damian berated himself as his brain supplied horrifying reasons someone would want to have a secret passage in their home to an underground cave they used for late-night activities. Too many of these scenarios involved the rich man running a cult, and ritually sacrificing recently-orphaned acrobats to some long-forgotten pagan god in his secret cave.

_ If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well try to figure out why _ , Damian decided. He slipped around the corner, intending to quickly scan the space and find a new hiding place. But the moment he had the full cave in view, he found himself frozen in shock. Despite everything he had imagined, somehow this still managed to take him by surprise. Absently, he noticed that his jaw was hanging loose, but was unable to do anything about it as he continued to process what he was seeing.

_ Really, really, should have asked what Bruce did for a living _ , was the only thought going through Damian’s head as he finally started to put the pieces together. The light was focused on a workspace directly ahead from the entrance, featuring a number of workbenches, what Damian had to assume were scientific instruments, and an almost absurdly massive computer setup.

More light came from an area further back in the cave, revealing a set of sleek, black vehicles on a lower level. The last light source came from a series of backlit glass cases to the right of the entrance Damian had come through, containing artefacts of all sorts, from a strange umbrella, to a single grey feather, a set of fancy knives, but one case that caught Damian’s eye contained…

“The Batman,” he breathed, eyes wide as he recognized the dark suit within the case from his encounter with the legend the previous night.

“Master Damian, if you would please come sit down,” Alfred’s voice broke him out of his paralysis, and he looked back at the workspace, somehow only now noticing the two men occupying the space, “it seems we have much to discuss.”

 

Some time later, the Damian and Bruce were sitting at one of the tables in the cave. Alfred had excused himself while Bruce had explained some of how he became Batman, and repeatedly stressed to Damian how important secrecy was.

He understood why Bruce became Batman ( _ of course he did, he felt a similar calling, to seek justice, to find the one responsible _ ), and the need to keep Batman’s identity secret, but there were a couple of things still bothering him.

“So, why did you take me in then?” Damian asked. “Another person living at the manor could only have been a threat to your secret. And I would have gotten in the way of your work, taken up more of your time.”

“I already told you,” Bruce answered gently, meeting Damian’s gaze. “I saw what happened, and knew that I had to try to help you. I thought I would be able to handle keeping a kid out of the cave, but apparently I will need to upgrade the security a bit.”

“Also maybe make it a little less obvious that you were not in your bed. Or in your office.”

“Ah. Yes, I suppose that might help, too,” Bruce acknowledged, looking a little embarrassed.

They sat in silence for another couple of seconds still staring at each other.

“When I told you that night, that the man who killed my family was named Zucco, you already knew who he was,” Damian stated.

“Yes,” Bruce nodded. “Tony Zucco heads a group that specializes in extortion. He’s been on my radar for months, but I’ve haven’t been able to build a solid case against him.”

That answered one of Damian’s questions without him even having to ask it, but Bruce continued to explain without prompting.

“I was there to try to enjoy a night off, I had no idea he was involved at all until you said his name. If I had known Zucco had been poking around the circus I would have been there in a…different capacity. I might have been able to save your family. I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Damian waved off his apology. “We’ll just have to work quickly to catch him before he hurts anyone else.”

“We?” Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, we,” Damian replied, narrowing his eyes right back. “I told you last night that I trusted you to bring my family’s killer to justice, but that I would be coming with you. And now that I know who you are, and I’m already living with you, there’s no reason why I can’t.”

“No,” Bruce said firmly, frowning. “I can actually think of any number of reasons why you can’t help me take down Zucco.”

But Damian just raised his eyebrow. He would not be backing down on this point. He eyed some of the gym equipment on an upper level of the cave he had not originally noticed, wondering how his skills could be applied to his new campaign. Probably pretty well, if the gymnastics equipment and rope rigging he saw were any judge.

“-and that’s not to mention the possibility of--Damian, are you even listening to me?” Bruce scowled. “You’re eight years old, have no experience fighting-”

“Actually, I do have some experience,” Damian said, distracted by planning adjustments to his training regimen. “My family was well known for chasing off anyone who tried to mess with us at the circus.”

“Hm,” Bruce does not seem to find this information reassuring. Meanwhile, Damian had moved on to plans for a new costume based on the bat-theme.

“How do you feel about demons?” Damian suddenly blurted out, finally looking at Bruce again.

“No, Damian.”


	8. Fledging

Damian shivered. His costume, which he spent hours modifying to be up to Bat-safety standards with Alfred’s assistance (he had helped his mom and Aunt Nyssa mend their costumes frequently, but apparently they must have been only giving him the really easy jobs, because Alfred thinks his stitches are terrible, even if he didn’t say so), looks pretty impressive, with its new deep red vest and yellow-and-black cape, meant to evoke the strange demons from his aunt’s bedtime stories, but doesn’t do enough to protect him from the chill of the wind while they sit for hours on the roof, holding very still in order to avoid detection.

They had been staking out Zucco’s headquarters for at least an hour now, and Damian’s fingers were starting to lose their feeling inside his new gloves. Or maybe he had just bandaged his fingers too tightly where he had repeatedly jabbed himself with his needle.

“Sh,” Bruce-no,  _ the Batman _ -shushed him.

“I didn’t say anything,” he hissed back, still trying to be as quietly as possible.

“Sh,” the Batman scowled at him.

“Tt,” he turned back toward the building they were watching, pulling his hood more firmly over his head.

It had been a week since he had stumbled upon the entrance to the Bat-Cave (as he had taken to calling it, which made Bruce look even more frustrated with him than usual), and the days had only hardened his resolve to bring his family’s murderer to justice. Especially in the wake of the funeral, only three days ago.

The two of them sat in silence for a while longer, despite all signs of activity from within the office having ended only shortly after they arrived.

“Okay,” the Batman whispered, not turning to look at Damian. “Time to move in.”

_ Finally _ , Damian thought, moving to straighten up, but stopped when he felt his arm grabbed by Batman. He shook his head and pointed at the grappling hook on Damian’s new utility belt. He then pulled out his own and, without fully straightening, shot it at the roof of their target and zipped off.

With a silent sigh, Damian mimicked him, landing right next to the waiting shadowy form.

“You know I could have made it over here without using that,” he hissed quietly, scowling and not quite looking at the form of his partner.

“Focus,” was all the reply he got.

“Tt.”

The Batman carefully pried open the roof access hatch he had pointed out on the building plans back in the Bat-Cave and propped it open. He then jumped through the opening with a soft whoosh of his large black cape. Damian wondered if he would be able to reproduce that effect with his shorter, smaller cape while he waited until the spiked head of the Batman’s cowl came back into view and gave the signal for him to follow. He prepared to leap through the hatch in the same manner, but at the slight hint of a growl from the shadows below he resigned himself to using the ladder attached to the side of the opening.

The stairwell at the bottom of the ladder was empty and dark, although some light came through the cracks around the doors of several floors, where employees had apparently stayed late into the night. Damian followed the Batman down four flights of stairs to the darkened floor that housed the offices of Zucco’s ‘mortgage and insurance’ business.

The Batman cautiously cracked open the door, listening for any noise on the other side before pulling it further open and sliding through. Damian immediately followed after him, earning a glare from the man. He returned the look with a scowl of his own and attempted to push past the Batman to walk down the hall. Of course, the Batman stopped him with a hand around his arm.

He resigned himself to simply following after the shadowy man as they continued through several other doors until they reached the one Damian knew based on the Batman’s blueprints belonged to Zucco’s personal office. The Batman gave the gesture telling Damian to keep watch as he knelt down, pulling a set of lock picks out of his belt.

Damian huffed internally, but watched the hallway for any signs of activity until he heard the click of the door opening behind him. He turned and followed Batman into the office, and the two immediately set to their assigned tasks.

While the Batman worked on accessing and copying the computer files, plugging in a special usb-drive he had developed for this purpose, Damian made a beeline to the safe. He had picked up the basics from an escape artist who had traveled with Haly’s two years ago, and Bruce had gone over this safe’s specifications and helped him practice in the cave earlier that day.

Several minutes of delicate fiddling allowed Damian to swing the safe door open, revealing several piles of cash on top of a stack of manila folders. Damian tugged out the folders and flipped each one open, meticulously capturing their contents using the camera built into the black domino mask Bruce had lent him for the night.

Once he finished rifling through the last folder’s contents, he replaced them in the safe under the cash, making sure that they were in the order he found them in. After re-closing the safe and setting the dial back to the original position, he joined the Batman at the desk, capturing the few papers lying on the surface.

It only took the Batman another minute to finish copying the files on the computer, then erase all trace of his access and shut it back down. He collected the drive as he pushed past Damian to check outside the door. Apparently seeing no activity, he led Damian back down the hallway and up the stairs to the roof.

Back on the roof, the Batman closed the access hatch, and then they were free to go. Damian carefully managed to conceal his excitement behind a serious expression until the pair had swung back the several blocks to where they had concealed the Batman’s black tank of a car in the shadows of an alley and closed the door behind them, sealing them into the darkness. Then, he finally allowed himself to express the vicious, heady pride and glee and relief at their success in a sharp smile.

He turned to see what Batman thought. But the man was still wearing his seemingly customary scowl, working to start the car and navigate back to the cave. He was not paying Damian any attention.

_ Hmph _ , Damian grumbled internally.  _ His people skills leave something to be desired. Has he never worked with a partner before? _

It suddenly occurred to him that it was entirely possible that he hadn’t. It could explain some of the Batman’s behavior during their mission, although he had been attributing most of that to misguided and unappreciated attempts to coddle him.

However, Damian forced himself to set aside his thoughts about the Batman’s behavior as the man in question started speaking.

“I will drop you off at the cave with Agent A to start analyzing the information we collected,” the Batman intoned, not turning his head from where he was presumably focused on the road ahead of them. “All the pictures you took and the data from Zucco’s desktop will have finished uploading to the computer in the cave by the time we get back. I have set up a temporary log-in for you, Agent A will show you how to use it. You are to be in bed by midnight, and Agent A will know if you try to sneak out again.”

“And where will you be going?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m the Batman,” was all the reply he got.

“Tt,” Damian scowled.

 

“This is tedious,” Damian groaned, scrubbing at his eyes. He had been poring over the documents they had copied from Zucco’s office each night for days, finding evidence of countless different illegal activities (extortion, smuggling, and money laundering chief among them), but had found no mention of anything related to Haly’s Circus or his family in any way.

“You finished going over the files from Zucco’s computer?” Bruce asked from his station at the main terminal.

“Yes, but still nothing about the circus, much less about my family.”

“Hm,” Bruce scowls. “You’ve been using the tagging system I showed you for any other evidence?”

“Of course,” Damian bristled.

“Hm. Start working from the bottom of the directory of scans from the safe then.”

Damian dragged his cold metal chair across the workspace to where Bruce was seated, careful of the tablet in his hand. He quickly checked Bruce’s progress through the long list of pictures from the folders Damian had taken pictures of in the office, and opened the file at the bottom of the list.

The two of them sat in silence for several more minutes as they continued to examine the files. As he finished tagging three more files without any hint of a connection to his case, he saw Bruce stop typing out of the corner of his eye and turn his full attention to Damian.

Damian finished tagging the file he was working on ( _ still no mention of Haly’s _ ) and turned to meet his gaze.

“Damian,” Bruce started, looking down at his feet before returning his eyes to Damian. “At this point, I think we need to discuss the possibility that there might not be any documentation of what Zucco did that night in these files.”

“Hm,” Damian huffed, looking down at the tablet again. That exact possibility had been plaguing his thoughts for days.  _ Maybe there is no proof, maybe he didn’t plan it, maybe he’ll never get justice for his family’s murder.. _

“However,” Bruce continued, gesturing at the large screen above them, which still showed the long list of files they were attempting to catalogue, “what we do have is a laundry list of evidence tying him to at least twenty other cases. I’m not sure if he killed anyone-”

“Tt.”

“-in any of these other cases, anyway, but it only seems like he documents his successes. But this should get at least ten counts of extortion. That alone should be enough to put him away for a good long while, depending on the judge.”

“Naturally. But I assume there is some point in this explanation?”

“Damian, look at me.”

Hesitating, Damian looked up from his tablet to meet Bruce’s eyes.

“We might not be able to prove he killed your parents with this. But we might be able to use the evidence we do have to make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Tt,” Damian twisted away again. He didn’t think he could look at Bruce’s stupidly gentle, understanding face for even a second longer without punching it ( _ or breaking down and crying _ , some traitorous part of his brain supplied).

“Damian-”

“Stop.”

Damian took a deep breath and finally let himself consider everything that Bruce had said. They might not be able to get justice for his family. His mother. His aunt. There was no security footage of Pop Haly’s office or the staging area, Haly hadn’t told the detectives anything about the man who had been threatening him earlier in the day, apparently hadn’t made the connection, thought he was scared off, and no one else alive had seen him. And now, if there was no proof among the files they had found in Zucco’s office…

“He needs to be stopped,” Damian hissed, fingers curling tightly around the edges of the tablet in his lap. “If there is nothing here about my parents...he still needs to be stopped. And...and maybe if he is arrested, already going to prison, he might give up more information, might confess to what he did, might give up the location of evidence.”

“Damian.”

He spun around, face already twisted into a snarl, but was stopped by Bruce’s arms abruptly wrapping around him.

He felt himself shaking. His eyes were stinging.

“I know this is hard. I’m proud of you, Damian.”

He tried to shove his way out of the hold, but Bruce only tightened his grip until he stopped struggling.

They stayed like that for a while. When Bruce finally let him go, he immediately reached down and picked up his tablet again, and Bruce returned to his terminal. They continued processing the files until Alfred came down to sternly remind them to go to sleep.

 

They had finally finished compiling the evidence from Zucco’s office the next day. But when Bruce declared that he would present it to the District Attorney that night, Damian had insisted on coming with him. 

He had been reviewing some of the Batman’s previous case files while he was working in the cave to try to get a feel for what was needed in a case like this, and how things would proceed once they delivered their evidence. He knew that once Dent had the evidence he would act on it almost immediately to try to prevent any leaks from within his office, handing it over to his ‘trustworthy contact’ within the police department, who was apparently the newly-appointed commissioner. 

Apparently, sitting on a warrant overnight to try to make the arrest in the morning had allowed a suspect to make a break for it and disappear before, and Dent and Kane had learned from their mistake.

The police would be raiding Zucco’s offices tonight to seize all the evidence stored there, and hopefully arrest Zucco and some of his subordinates at their home addresses. There was no way Damian was going to miss that.

And that was how Damian found himself sitting on a rooftop a couple of buildings over, watching through the Batman’s binoculars as the Batman spoke with Commissioner Kane about the case against Tony Zucco. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he does see when the Batman passes over the flash drive with a copy of all their evidence. Not long after that he saw the Batman disappear while the Commissioner’s back was turned, and knew that it was now up to the police to do their own jobs.

Not a minute later the Batman reappeared next to Damian and gestured for him to follow. They grappled the couple of blocks down to where they had hidden the car in silence. The moment they were sealed inside however, Damian couldn’t hold the questions in any longer.

“Well?” he asked, looking up at Batman. “Was it enough?”

“Commissioner Kane believes he can use what we gave him to convince a judge to give him a warrant to search Zucco’s offices,” Batman grunted. “We will be watching the building to make sure no one tries to start destroying evidence before the police arrive.”

They pulled out of the alley, turning sharply before accelerating smoothly up the street. It felt like they had hardly finished accelerating when they pulled into the same hiding spot they had used during their previous break in, and within five minutes they were setting back up at the same observation post as before. This time, both of them had their own binoculars to be able to examine the insides. 

Damian raised his binoculars, accidentally clicking them against the lenses of his domino mask. Growling, he focused in on the building. The lights were on this time in several rooms of Zucco’s office block; it looked like someone (or possibly more than one someone) was working late. At first Damian was a bit worried that this might present a problem for the police when they arrived, but he eventually reasoned that this might allow them to catch a few of Zucco’s subordinates, maybe even Zucco himself, all in the same raid. leaving fewer opportunities for them to get away.

“The police are finishing their preparations for the raid as we speak,” the Batman whispered from his position next to Damian. “It looks like Zucco is even inside right now. It should all be finished tonight.”

“Should?”

“...there will obviously still need to be charges, a trial. Due process.”

“Tt. So you’re saying it won’t be finished at all tonight, regardless of whether he is actually arrested tonight?”

“Hn,” the Batman scowled, and turned away. “Wait quietly, the police should be here soon.”

Damian bit back his retort and went back to watching the office through his binoculars. From this angle, he could see through most of the windows of Zucco’s offices, but not the man’s personal office; that office’s windows faced the street. Since the buildings across the street were too low to get a good view inside, unlike the adjacent building Damian and the Batman were currently crouched on, no view of Zucco himself was currently possible. A couple of the visible offices had their lights on, revealing small groups of men in suits sitting at computers, surrounded by piles of folders and coffee cups.

While Damian was worriedly contemplating the shredders located conveniently at the side of the desks, several black-and-white cars pulled to a stop a ways up the block. As he adjusted the lenses to the new distance, a stream of tiny uniformed police officers quickly made their way into the building below through the front entrance.

He smiled behind his binoculars. It wouldn’t be long now.

His concentration was broken by a nudge from the Batman. The Batman held out his hand to Damian, holding what looked like some kind of earpiece.

“Put this in,” he growled.

Damian scowled at the Batman, but took the device and carefully shoved it into his ear.

“We’re in the elevator now, sir.”

Damian nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice right beside him. How could someone have snuck up on him and Batman?! But before he could turn to find and attack the offender, Batman tightly gripped his arm and held him still.

“Police radio,” he explained, eloquent as ever. “One-way.”

“Tt,” Damian huffed, settling back into his post. It was obvious when you put it like that. He just hadn’t expected the audio quality to be so good. He tuned back in, tracking the progress reported within the elevator. Finally, they reported that they were outside the office.

“Okay Gordon, have the warrant ready boys, but be prepared for resistance,” came the orders, transmitted through the radio.

“You got it sir,” the officer replied. “Okay boys, you heard the Commish.”

There came the sound of pounding on the doors.

“This is the Gotham City Police Department, we have a warrant to search the premises, open up!”

Hearing this, a number of the employees he had been watching quickly stood up, startled and scared by the sudden shouting so late at night. Some seemed more surprised than anything, moving into the halls and then leaping out of the way of the officers streaming in, but others immediately started frantically clicking at their desktops, some even remembering to try to use their shredders for papers on their desks. 

They rather reminded Damian of ants whose hill had been kicked in.

Before the officers got too far into the offices, though, there came a sudden loud crash at the front of the building, followed by a scream which cut off abruptly. Tires squealed on the road below as Damian swiveled in place to try to find the source.

He froze. Tony Zucco was lying in the street.

“Stay here,” the Batman growled next to him. Then, with a flutter of fabric, he disappeared into the dark, leaving Damian alone on the roof with his binoculars.

He continued staring at the body. He pictured Zucco in his office, realizing that the police were coming in, and that there was no way for him to destroy all of the evidence of what he had been doing. Looking at the window and realizing there was only one choice he could make that would allow him to avoid facing justice. Hurling himself through the glass. Screaming as he fell through the air. Regretting his choice? Fearing his fate? Falling through the air...hitting the pavement...breaking…

Damian felt himself shaking as he quickly turned away from the side of the building, bent over and vomited onto the gravel. He closed his eyes, but quickly opened them when all he could see was the faces of his mother, his aunt, as they lay on the ground…

It was a good thing he had only partially straightened up, because he was already throwing up again.

He focused on taking deep breaths, on picturing anything but the broken bodies splayed out on the ground, but he ended up heaving twice more before he heard the crunch of gravel behind him.

“We need to leave,” the Batman whispered, once he was close beside Damian. “Are you okay to get back to the car?”

“Tt,” Damian managed to grit out. Instead of actually answering, he fumbled out his grapple and launched himself back into the night toward where they had hidden the car.

After a second, he heard Batman launch his line to follow him.

When they were only a block away from the car, Damian stumbled as he ran across the roof of a building. Instead of face-planting into the concrete as he had expected, he suddenly felt himself jerked back by his cape. Batman bent and picked him up, carrying him the last hundred yards down to the car.

The Batman gently but briskly placed him into the passenger seat. Damian listened as the Batman slipped into the driver’s side, clicked both of their safety belts into place, and started the engine. He closed his eyes again, sliding down further into the seat. This time, he saw nothing but darkness.


	9. Nesting

Steam rose lazily from the mug in his hands. Damian considered waiting for it to cool further, but then gave up and drained the cup of Alfred’s excellent hot chocolate.

Bruce worked on his tablet next to him at the small breakfast table in the kitchen. Neither of them had spoken or even really moved since they had returned to the manor after the incident. Damian had woken up as Batman turned off the engine of the car in the cave. They had taken off their costumes in silence, hanging them up inside the designated glass cases along the wall. Damian had been surprised to note that there was one ready for him, right next to Batman’s. It hadn’t been there when they had left for the night, so Alfred must have snuck it in after they left.

Once they had redressed in sweats, they had taken the staircase back up into the manor and, by some unspoken agreement, gone straight to the kitchen, where they had taken their seats at the table in silence. Some time later, Alfred had dropped in, wrapping a blanket around Damian’s unmoving shoulders and placing mugs in front of each of them. He had also brought Bruce his tablet from his office after a whispered conversation between the two.

The sun was starting to peek out from over the horizon. It was nearing the time that he would have woken up for the day back at the circus. It was well past the time he and Bruce should have been asleep, even considering their nightly activities. Neither moved.

Finally, after the sun was all the way up, Damian cleared his throat.

“So,” he started.

“Zucco died immediately upon impact with the street,” Bruce interrupted. “The police heard the crash from the hallway and broke down the door, in case someone was trying to escape or get rid of evidence. They found his office seemingly undisturbed, except for the broken window. It looks like the computer was fried, but all but his most recent files will have been stored in his backup, which the police are working on accessing.

“Since there was no one else in the room, they concluded that he must have heard the raid and panicked, jumping out the window.”

“Tt. Obviously.”

Bruce took a sip from his mug, tapping through a file on his tablet. “The only strange thing is that one of his subordinates told the police that he heard Zucco talking about a meeting tonight. But no one saw anyone enter the building. According to several of his other employees, though, this was not uncommon. They always assumed that the meetings were conducted via video call.

“Of course, with his computer fried, they might not be able to determine who he was meeting with. And with him dead, and hopefully all of his subordinates in custody, the police are not likely to pursue that thread very far.”

“And why not?” Damian demanded.

“Because the police have too many other active cases, Damian. They don’t have the resources or the manpower to pursue leads when there is not likely to be any payout.”

“...is the Batman going to pursue it, then?”

Bruce paused in his scrolling to consider his answer.

“The Batman might, if any further leads appear during the police investigation. If there’s nothing to go on, there isn’t much left to investigate.”

“Tt.”

They lapsed into silence again as Bruce continued his work.

“Bruce?”

“Hm?”

“...what about my family’s case? Have they found anything about that?”

Bruce sighed. “There was actually a reminder scheduled on his phone about Haly’s Circus, which matches with what you reported from earlier that day.”

He hesitated again. “Damian, just proving that he was there earlier, even if you both testify that he was trying to extort Haly that day, won’t be enough to implicate him for your family’s murder. It might not even be enough for the police to change the classification from an accident. Especially now that the only suspect is already dead. Again, they only have so much manpower, and they will prioritize cases they can solve, with live suspects to pursue.”

Damian growled. Oh, he understood why the police would let it go, but the idea of his family’s killer never facing justice, of no one ever acknowledging what had been done to them,  _ burned _ .

But there were other matters that still needed to be addressed before he could dwell on that. However, just as Damian opened his mouth to ask his next question, Bruce started speaking again.

“Now that that matter is settled, there are other things that I need to talk with you about.” Damian couldn’t help noticing just how uncomfortable Bruce seemed, now that he had set down his tablet to focus on Damian. “We need to figure out long-term plans for you.”

“Oh,” Damian said. But before the dark train of thought those words had set in motion could pick up any speed, Bruce continued.

“I need to find a way to set up a more permanent guardianship of you, at the very least. CPS has been giving me a hard time about you staying with me, they prefer to keep kids within their established system as much as possible. It doesn’t make much sense, even if I’m not exactly an experienced foster parent. Whatever the reason, they’ve been creating a lot of work for my lawyer.” He smiled wryly at Damian.

“Anyway, I think most of that could be resolved with a permanent guardianship of some kind. I’ve had my lawyer researching options for you, but the most obvious one is- Well, the simplest would be for me to adopt you.”

Silence hung in the air. Damian wasn’t sure he was even breathing; he was pretty sure Bruce wasn’t.

He thought about it. About living in the manor, with Bruce and Alfred, learning about Gotham and the Batman, and about all kinds of other things, like baking cookies with Alfred, reading in companionable silence with Bruce before bed on non-patrol nights. About the funeral service, with Bruce at his side the entire time.

It didn’t take him too long to decide.

“Tt. I suppose I’ll finally be able to determine if having a father is all it’s said to be.”

Bruce smiled softly at him for a moment. Then he picked his tablet up again to continue working.

They sat in silence as the sun continued to climb through the sky.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Tt. It should be obvious.”

“Go back upstairs, Damian.”

Damian twisted his lips into a scowl, placing his hands on his hips. He hadn’t even turned around to address him properly! No one was going to dismiss him like that, not even the Batman.

“You need my help.”

“No.”

His scowl deepened as he stormed out from the bottom of the staircase to stand behind Batman’s chair at the workstation.

“You need another set of eyes, another pair of hands. You said it yourself, there’s too much for you to handle everything that comes along; I can help manage your caseload. And as I get bigger-”

“No.”

“-I will be increasingly able to assist you in combat as well.”

“No.”

“Tt,” he tisked as he circled the chair in an effort to get Batman to meet his eyes. “I want to help. You can’t deny me that.”

“No.” Batman still wasn’t even looking at him.

“Why not?” When Batman took more than a minute to reply, Damian repeated his question. “Why won’t you let me help?”

“You’re too young,” Batman finally growled, refusing to face him. Damian attempted to force himself into his field of vision, but there was not enough space between the chair and the keyboard to wedge himself into. “And you don’t have the skills you would need to actually work in the field in any case beyond the carefully controlled, minimal risk missions we took for this case.”

“So I will need to train,” Damian insisted, finally climbing onto Batman’s legs to force the man to look at him.

“No, Damian. No more.”

Damian smirked then. He had finally forced Batman to look at him. And he had seen this exact argument play out before. He already knew how this was going to end.


	10. Epilogue: Father

Bruce sipped his coffee at the dining room table, looking over the news on his tablet while eating his eggs. It seemed the media was starting to take notice of the small red figure working with the Batman. One article in particular, by a reporter with a familiar name at the Daily Planet in Metropolis, seemed especially interested.  
“Master Damian!”  
Speaking of his little red shadow.  
“Master Damian, I must insist you finish getting dressed before you come to breakfast.”  
“Tt.”  
A minute later, Damian emerged into the dining room, wearing his full Gotham Academy uniform. Bruce smirked internally; he remembered how much he had hated wearing that vest and tie every day. Of course, he really hoped that Damian didn’t take after him too much in that way. He would not be looking forward to sitting in the Hammerhead’s office again, even if it had been several years now since he had been in school.  
Damian sat at his place next to Bruce with his usual scowl etched onto his face. He immediately dug into his eggs with gusto, however, so Bruce wasn’t too worried.  
“Did anything happen after I finished patrol last night?” Damian asked, in lieu of any sort of greeting. Bruce noted that he seemed to be trying to butter his toast while still using one hand to shovel eggs into his mouth, and surprisingly enough might actually have been pulling it off.  
“Hm,” Bruce took another bit of his own eggs. “Just more muggings and a break-in.”  
“Tt.”  
“However,” Bruce smirked a bit, scrolling back to the top of the article before turning the tablet so Damian could see it, “I think you will find this interesting.”  
“Did someone manage to get a picture of us? Or notice that you are no longer working alone? I didn’t see anyone with a camera, but it is possible that-”  
And there it was: Damian’s face was turning what was becoming a very familiar shade of red. He’d seen it.  
“What.”  
“Hm,” Bruce allowed his smirk to widen as he finished the last of his eggs and moved on to buttering his toast. “It looks like the Batman’s partner might have gotten a name.”  
“ROBIN?!”  
“Sit back down and eat your breakfast, Master Damian. And please refrain from shouting inside the house.”  
Damian reflexively sank back into his chair, face still murderously red.  
“I’m not a bird,” he hissed.  
“Robin is trending online.” Bruce pretended to not notice Damian’s reaction. He pulled up the Twitter feed on his tablet. “It seems the public likes the name.”  
“I’m supposed to be a demon,” Damian clenched his fists. “All the mobsters we’ve fought in the last week agreed.”  
“Hm,” Bruce paused his scrolling to take a sip of his coffee. This Twitter feed had turned out to be more entertaining than he had expected.  
“As did the conspiracy boards we monitor.”  
“Hm,” Bruce hummed again, still not looking directly at Damian as his face came increasingly close to matching the hue of his costume.  
“I AM A DEMON, NOT SOME RIDICULOUS BIRD! I-”  
“You will either finish your breakfast in peace or get your jacket and backpack and go to the car immediately, Master Damian.”  
“TT!” While he looked about ready to mutiny, Damian did in fact comply, pushing back from the table and heading back upstairs, leaving his mostly-buttered toast and the last bites of eggs on his plate.  
Bruce smiled down at his toast, deciding to eat Damian’s too. He couldn’t wait for Damian to get home tonight. And not just because he would get to bait him about the Robin thing. His lawyer had called first thing that morning to tell him that she had finally wrangled out a deal with CPS: just shy of a year after taking Damian in, they would be able to fill out the papers finalizing his adoption.  
But for now, he needed to look into this new Kent fellow, and how someone from Metropolis was able to find such good pictures of his partner in action.


End file.
